


I'm Not That Girl

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon - Book, F/M, Songfic, post-adwd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After defeating the Brotherhood Without Banners, Jaime and Brienne return to King's Landing, where Brienne finally meets Cersei.</p><p>A response to the Jaime/Brienne Shuffled Challenge, for "I'm Not That Girl" from <em>Wicked</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not That Girl

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the musical “Wicked.” This song is sung by Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West, in Act 1.

I.

_Hands touch, eyes meet_  
_Sudden silence, sudden heat_  
_Hearts leap in a giddy whirl_  
_He could be that boy_  
_But I'm not that girl_

  
Jaime’s arm firmly around Brienne, they staggered from the cave, Pod and Hyle trailing behind. The hot blood soaking her tunic was mostly hers, a little from the outlaw she’d killed just as he raked his dagger across her ribs. _Another scar, if I live to see morning._ But Jaime would live, and Pod, even Hyle. That was enough.

“Stupid, stubborn wench, what were you thinking, jumping in front of me?” Jaime muttered fiercely as he half-dragged her to her horse.

“Something stupid,” Brienne slurred, so tired, so cold.

“That’s my job,” he grumbled. “Pod, help me get Brienne on her horse. She rides with me. We’ve done it before.”

Brienne could feel hands pushing her, pulling, and she tried to help, until she was seated backward on the horse. Darkness pressed in at the edges of her vision, and she struggled to stay upright. Sticky blood began to freeze against her skin, and her hands were going numb.

Jaime pulled himself up awkwardly, facing her, and arranged himself until they seemed secure. He took her hand and wrapped it around his back. “Can you hold on?” he asked quietly, searching her increasingly unfocused eyes. “Brienne?” He reached up to touch her face, worry creasing his brow.

There was snow in his hair and in his beard, and his eyes were so green they took her breath away. “Jaime,” she sighed, and then the dark pulled her under.

 

* * *

II.

_Don't dream too far_  
_Don't lose sight of who you are_  
_Don't remember that rush of joy_  
_He could be that boy_  
_I'm not that girl_

  
Pressure on her hand. The tickle of warm furs covering her body. Pain in her chest. Firelight flickered behind her eyelids. With great effort, Brienne opened her eyes, but all she saw was gold and shadows.

She struggled to focus, and the gold slowly resolved into a tumble of short gold and silver curls. Jaime. He was sleeping, his fingers curled around hers, slumped in a chair close at her side. Slowly Brienne looked around, and recognized the infirmary of the Quiet Isle.

“The Kingslayer would not leave you. He made a number of unpleasant threats when asked to go rest.” Brienne turned her head and found the Elder Brother at her other side, offering a cup of water.

Brienne drank greedily, water running down her freshly bandaged cheek. Her throat was painfully dry and her mouth tasted of bitter herbs. “How long?” she croaked.

“Two days. You did not heed my advice to go home,” he admonished.

“No,” was all she could manage.

The Elder Brother frowned. “The Kingslayer does not deserve your loyalty or your life.”

Brienne was too tired to fight. “Jaime does.”

The pressure on her hand suddenly increased. Brienne looked back and found Jaime watching her intently. She squeezed his hand back.

 

* * *

III.

_Ev'ry so often we long to steal_  
_To the land of what-might-have-been_  
_But that doesn't soften the ache we feel_  
_When reality sets back in_

  
Brienne stood by her window, watching trunks loaded into carts in the yard. From here it would all be loaded onto ships at the harbor for the men going to fight the Pretender Aegon Targaryen in the Stormlands. The lords and commanders would leave soon, judging by the livery of the horses waiting near the carts.

They would be so close to her home, Brienne fervently wished she could go with them, if only to slip away and make her way to Tarth. She was nearly recovered, the maesters of the Red Keep finishing the healing begun at the Quiet Isle, but there was no place for her among the Lannister and Tyrell forces. Lord Mace Tyrell had never approved of Brienne’s place at King Renly’s side. He would not allow her amongst his men again.

Behind her, the door opened. “Pod, leave me a moment longer, would you?” Brienne asked, not quite ready to leave the window. She hoped to catch a glimpse of Jaime as he left. She hadn’t seen him in days, and it was unlikely she would see him again.

“You know, in a year or so there will be whispers if Pod is still coming and going from your rooms at all hours.”

Brienne spun around. Jaime stood there, closing the door behind him. He’d exchanged the white wool Kingsguard uniform for soft brown leather traveling gear and a red surcoat trimmed with gold thread. His mischievous smile reached his eyes, a rare genuine smile that made Brienne’s breath catch.

“I thought you’d gone,” she lied, cursing the blush rising in her cheeks.

“No, you didn’t.” He gestured to the window, seemingly amused that she’d been watching. “While making you blush is its own reward, that’s not why I came.”

Brienne couldn’t think why he was here, much as it pleased her. “Do tell, ser.”

Jaime crossed the room to her, his voice low. “It’s about our quest.”

Brienne tried to step back, but the windowsill was already pressing against her hip. “I will leave within the week. Pod and I will try to find a ship to Gulltown,” she answered equally quietly.

Jaime shook his head. “There is no need. I’ve sent someone I trust to Gulltown. Ser Addam Marbrand. If he finds Lady Sansa, they will go to the Quiet Isle. I arranged it while we were there, and there is a brother who will watch over her. Addam will send a raven to you directly.”

“Someone you trust?” Brienne echoed, trying unsuccessfully to keep the hurt she felt from her voice.

Jaime looked confused, then his eyes widened and he reached out to touch her arm. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. If Addam doesn’t find her, you and Pod should try Braavos. You said Arya may be there, right?”

Brienne nodded, her attention briefly focused on the pressure of his hand. “I understand,” she said, though she didn’t.

Jaime took another step toward her. “I need one more vow from you.”

Brienne couldn’t read his expression. She hadn’t seen him this serious since the Brotherhood. “Of course.”

“I need you here until the Pretender is in chains. If his forces get anywhere near King’s Landing, take Tommen and run.” Jaime’s voice was so low she had to lean closer to hear him. “Trust no one, go to Braavos. Give my name at the Iron Bank and you’ll have all you need.”

“What about you?”

Jaime looked away. “I will follow when I can.”

_No, you won’t. You won’t live that long._

Jaime pulled away, moving toward the door. “I must go. Will you do it?”

“On my honor,” she replied, and he smiled and nodded, as if it was the only response he’d expected. “Wait!”

Jaime stood, uncertain, while she rummaged through the trunk at the foot of her bed. What she wanted was buried deeply at the bottom, wrapped in a ragged red cloak. Brienne brought it out and unwrapped it. “Take this.”

Brienne held out Oathkeeper, and when Jaime hesitated she pressed the scabbard into his hand. “Please.” The moment growing too weighty, Brienne forced a smile and said as lightly as she could manage, “This blade was not made to sit unused. Perhaps it will save you as it did me.”

“Thank you.” His voice was rough, and he looked like he wanted to say more, but then the moment passed.

Brienne watched through her window as Jaime rode away, Oathkeeper on his hip.

 

* * *

IV.

_Blithe smile, lithe limb_  
_She who's winsome, she wins him_  
_Gold hair with a gentle curl_  
_That's the girl he chose_  
_And Heaven knows_  
_I'm not that girl_

  
Brienne pressed her hands together to stop them from shaking as she followed the page who’d summoned her to Queen Cersei’s rooms.

He ushered her through a door and closed it firmly behind her. _No escape._

The queen was seated across the room near a window, a goblet of wine in her hand. She wore a simple red gown, rubies at her throat, and although her hair was cut brutally short she was still breathtakingly beautiful. Beautiful and cold.

Brienne crossed the room, desperately wishing she wore her own clothes instead of a borrowed gown, ill-fitting though at least in her own house color of blue. “Your Grace,” she said, attempting an abysmal curtsey.

Cersei curled her lip in distaste. “Lady Brienne of Tarth.” She waved with one hand absently. “Sit.”

Brienne chose a simple chair as far from the queen as she could without appearing rude, and sat as gracefully as she could manage. Still-tender scars chafed under the slightly too-tight bodice.

Cersei took another deep swallow of wine. “I heard whispers that my brother had slunk back into the Keep with a woman. I see that they were mistaken.”

Brienne flushed, remembering her own embarrassment, riding into King’s Landing slumped against Jaime’s back, his crimson cloak draped over her, bandaged cheek pressed against his shoulder. “I was injured. Ser Jaime was only being kind.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “Kind? Lannisters are not kind. Lannisters are lions, even the maimed ones.” She paused and smiled in a way that Brienne remembered from the first time she ever met Jaime, in the dungeons of Riverrun. “Then again, my poor fool brother always did have a soft spot for freaks.”

Brienne flinched. She took a deep breath and tried to summon some of the bravado that came so easily to Jaime. “I’ve brought Ser Jaime back to you twice. If you continue sending him away, you may someday find that he does not return.”

The queen’s face twisted in anger. _She is not so beautiful now._ “You think he cares for you?  Perhaps you should look in a mirror, Maid of Tarth. Men mislike women who think themselves men and greatly resemble an aurochs. Men like Jaime—”

“Are sworn to father no children, your Grace. And yet...” Brienne was not sure it was wise to show Cersei how much she knew, but it was the only card she had to play.

The blood drained from Cersei’s face. She took another long drink of wine and stood stiffly. “As soon as Tarth is re-taken, you will leave King’s Landing. Follow Jaime around like a dog if you like, but you will not return to court.”

Brienne stood and left the room as quickly as she could without actually running.

 

* * *

V.

_Don't wish, don't start_  
_Wishing only wounds the heart_  
_I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl_  
_There's a girl I know_  
_He loves her so_  
_I'm not that girl_

 

It was supposed to be a celebration, and others were certainly happy. The Great Hall echoed with laughter, with boasts of valor from men glad to return home.

Brienne watched it all, untouched. She’d been seated with men from the Stormlands and the Reach, bannermen and soldiers with sigils she knew well. Red Ronnet Connington was seated farther down the table, and he’d flinched away when he saw her, not with disgust, but fear. Brienne saw his eyes flick up to the high table, where Jaime stood in his white cloak, behind his small king.

Tomorrow she would ride for the Quiet Isle, where Lady Sansa waited with her silent protector. From there to Maidenpool, where a ship waited to sail for Tarth. Lady Sansa would stay with her until the North was safe enough to take her home. While they waited, Brienne would rebuild her home, marry the next man her father found for her, and content herself with teaching the children around Evenfall how to wield a sword. Green mountains, blue sea, and an ocean of memories. It would have to be enough.

The Pretender was in the dungeons and King Tommen was safe. It was time to end this. As soon as she could, Brienne excused herself from the table and made her way back to the Maidenvault. Her few possessions were packed, only one task left to her.

Brienne sat at the desk and quickly wrote a few lines, sealing the letter with blue wax. Within a few minutes she was hurrying along the corridors of the nearly deserted keep. The feast was still going on in the Great Hall, the noise rising up the stairways and along the passages. If she was lucky she could slip in and out of White Sword Tower unnoticed.

Brienne climbed the stairs thinking of the last time she was here, escorted by Ser Loras Tyrell. Jaime had given her Oathkeeper then. Reaching the Lord Commander’s rooms on the top floor, Brienne knocked on the door, hoping Jaime was still at the feast. She could not imagine saying good-bye to him again.

“Come in,” he called, and Brienne hesitated a moment, then pushed open the door.

Jaime was seated at his desk, writing in a large book bound in white leather. He looked tired, but he brightened when he saw her. “Brienne, I see you escaped from the tedium of that feast.”

“I will not miss such events,” Brienne admitted, crossing the room to stand before him. “Why are you not still there?”

Jaime shrugged. “The king is nine years old. I put him to bed and Ser Meryn has tonight’s watch.”

Brienne stepped closer, trying to read the book upside down. Jaime’s handwriting was truly awful, though carefully done.  “What is that you’re writing?”

Jaime put the quill down and turned the book so she could see it better. “This is the White Book. Each brother of the Kingsguard has his own page, and the Lord Commander keeps the records. I’ve not quite caught up on this duty.” He flipped through the pages to his own, and Brienne saw her name written there.

Jaime pointed down at the parchment she was still clutching. “Is that for me?”

Brienne blushed and dropped the parchment on the desk. “I did not expect to see you. I ride for the Quiet Isle at daybreak. For now it seems our quest is at an end.”

Jaime reached out and picked up the parchment. With difficulty he broke the seal and read the few lines, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I have something for you.” He set the parchment down and pulled a wrapped parcel out from behind the desk.

Brienne unwrapped the package and found a blue wool cloak, trimmed with rose silk. She laughed when she saw the pin fastening it. It was a small gold bear with ruby eyes.

“To remember our adventures,” he said with a laugh.

“As if I could forget.”

“There’s one more thing.” Jaime stood and removed Oathkeeper from its hook on the wall. He set the scabbard on the desk and briefly touched the hilt of the blade. Without looking at her, he said, “This is yours. Take it with you.”

“But this is Valyrian steel, Jaime—”

“It’s yours,” he said firmly. Jaime sighed, ran his hand through his hair. He’d cut it short again, and there were more silver threads in his hair than when they’d met. More gently, he said, “Take it. The next time sellswords land on your shores you can hack them to bits properly. I can attest it performs that task quite well.”

Brienne nodded, remembering how the blade slid through chainmail with ease. “I’m sure there is much to do to rebuild the island. I will be quite busy enough with that.”

Jaime stepped away from the desk, pouring himself a cup of wine and sitting in a well-worn chair. “There was a tower fallen, a village burnt, some sheep butchered. Your father thought it would not take terribly long to recover.”

Brienne nearly choked. No one had told her Jaime was at Tarth. “You spoke with my father?” She found a chair as well and sank into it. She did not care to think what her father might have said, or what rumors he had heard. _Kingslayer’s whore._

Jaime smiled, seeing her discomfort. “It was the strangest thing, Brienne. He thanked me.” Clearly thanks were not something Jaime often received.

“He did?”

Jaime’s smile broadened. “He had heard about Harrenhal, and he thanked me for saving your life. He invited my men into his hall for dinner. Lord Selwyn nearly drank both Daven and I under the table.”

Brienne laughed, not at all surprised by this tale of her father. “Then perhaps someday you’ll come visit. It’s not so far from King’s Landing.”

Jaime gave her a strange look. “Would you not visit here?”

Brienne blushed. “I am no longer welcome at court.”

Jaime frowned. “Who would… Cersei.”

Brienne looked hard at the floor. “She insulted you. So I told her that if she kept sending you away someday you might not come back.”

Jaime’s eyes went wide. “You’re lucky she didn’t put a dagger in your back.” He sighed. “Cersei and I … are not close. Not since I lost my hand. She found me rather repulsive, and I began to see the truth of her as well.”

Brienne was not sure what to say. She stood and collected the cloak and Oathkeeper from his desk. “I should go.”

Jaime nodded and stood. He walked with her to the door.

Knowing this would be the last time she would ever be alone with Jaime, Brienne embraced him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, already blushing as she pulled back.

Jaime looked stunned, but then he pulled her back into the embrace. Brienne was surprised by how tightly he held her, but she was glad of it. It was nice to be held, just once, when neither of them were grievously injured. As he finally released her, Brienne tried to commit his face to her memory, but she never got past the sadness in his eyes. 

Then Jaime kissed her. His lips barely grazed hers, but the shock ran from her lips all the way to her toes. “Goodbye, Brienne,” he said softly, and stepped away.

* * *

VI.

  
Tarth was more beautiful than Brienne had remembered, even after the Golden Company had burned their way across the island. It was the harbor and the castle they were after, and those were repaired with time and effort.

After some early misgivings on Lady Sansa’s part, she and Brienne had struck up a friendship, and the household very much liked Lady Brienne’s companion, Alayne Stone from the Vale.  The village girls were also rather fond of her squire, young Pod.

It took Brienne far more time to accept the brown brother who accompanied Lady Sansa and remained at Evenfall. Though she had never met the man, Brienne had no doubt that he was Sandor Clegane. Why the Elder Brother had lied to her, Brienne wasn’t sure, but Clegane made himself useful. Jaime had certainly recognized him, and that counted for something as well.

Brienne had been home two turns of the moon before her father announced that a suitor had asked for her hand, and he’d accepted on her behalf. The man would arrive at Evenfall within a fortnight. She didn’t even ask who it was, just asked that it wasn’t Ser Hyle Hunt. Lord Selwyn had looked puzzled, but assured her that, though the man had only recently become a lord, he was no hedge knight. _One of the new Stormlords then. At least I won’t need to go far._

On the day of his arrival, Brienne put on the best dress she owned, a simple blue gown Sansa had given her not long after they arrived in Tarth. It had lain folded in her drawers untouched, beside the blue cloak too fine for everyday wear. Oathkeeper was still wrapped in her old bedroll and tucked under her bed. On impulse she put on the blue cloak with its bear pin, and went to wait in her father’s solar, where he’d promised to bring her betrothed when they returned from the harbor.

Sansa was telling Brienne a story about the gallant Ser Addam when they heard voices coming up the stairs.

“We’ll have the wedding next week, if that will serve,” Brienne heard Lord Selwyn say.

“It will, my lord,” came the response. The voice was familiar. Someone she’d seen at court?

The door opened, and Lord Selwyn walked in, a broad grin on his face, cheeks still pink from the cold outside. Brienne had not seen him in such good humor since the day she returned.

Her heart pounded waiting for yet another unsuitable suitor to walk through the door behind him.

And then he did.

“Jaime?”

Sansa let out a small squeak beside Brienne.

“Lord Jaime, my dear,” Lord Selwyn corrected her.  

It took Brienne a moment to get over her shock, and then she was crossing the room at speed. She stopped barely a step away, reaching out to touch Jaime’s shoulder, reassuring herself that he was actually here. “You came.”

He smiled. “I did.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter she'd given him in King's Landing, then tucked it away again. 

It was nothing much, just a few simple lines. _Ser Jaime Lannister - You are a man with honor. You never needed me to restore it. Don't forget that. - Brienne_

“But how?”

“I was released from the Kingsguard, which makes me Lord of Casterly Rock.” Jaime took her hand. “I thought perhaps we could spend the winter here, then have a few more adventures. Winterfell, Casterly Rock, Braavos. What say you, my lady?”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re not familiar with "Wicked," it’s based on the Wizard of Oz story, but set earlier. Galinda (Glinda) and Elphaba (Witch of the West) meet as roommates in college, opposites in nearly every way who eventually become friends. Green-skinned, shy Elphaba develops a crush on the charming (and out of her league) prince Fiyero, who has taken up with the beautiful, blonde, and popular Galinda. Here’s a video of Idina Menzel (who originated the role) singing it, though not in the context of the show. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HqEKd1xSeBA  
> One of the bright spots in Act 2 is “As Long as You’re Mine,” in which Fiyero confesses that he too has feelings for Elphaba.


End file.
